What didn't happen behind the curtains
by KimberleyIonaSmith
Summary: Tiny one-shot of mild smut, with Bella, Edward and Major Whitlock.


Disclaimer: I did not write any of the 'Twilight' series.

Author's Note: Happy Valentine's Day. A very quick, short one-shot. It could fit into 'What didn't happen', or it could stand alone.

I dreamed of sex with Edward. It was amazing.

We were back in our meadow, he was on his knees, stark naked, holding a ring in a box. And I said, "it's going to take a little bit more than that, sweetie."

Edward tipped his head to one side, moonlight splashed on his cheek. "You're not saying no?"

"I might say yes. See if you can make me say yes."

Edward's breath came in a shudder, his shoulders trembled.

Achingly slowly, he rose to his feet. He stood in front of me, watching my eyes, showing me the pools of love and desire in his own. He lifted his left hand to my shoulder and touched me gently, as though he thought I might disappear.

I took a breath, and my top melted away under Edward's hand. I never saw his fingers move to unbutton it. One moment it was there, the next moment, it was sliding to our feet. He was still watching my face. Though I was standing before him in my bra and skirt, Edward still acted as though my eyes were the part of me worth watching.

His hand stroked down, gently, over my breasts in a blessing.

He was gentle and feather-light. It was too soft, I wanted more from him. I wanted to be grabbed, fondled, enjoyed.

I pressed my chest into his hand.

He responded, cupping my breasts in both his hands now, squeezing them, his fingers tightening on my nipples, almost pinching them.

My bra had never felt so bulky or intrusive before, I reached up to undo it. But, I wasn't quick enough. By the time my fingers reached it, my bra was gone. Edward was holding my bare breasts in his hands.

Cold fingers circled the skin around and under my breasts, cold thumbs flicked against my nipples. I felt hot shivers in my stomach and it was hard to breathe.

Edward smiled shyly at me, then he ducked his head and kissed my nipple. He drew tiny spirals around the areola with his cold, hard tongue.

I was breathing hard and fast now. I put my hands into his hair and pulled him closer to me.

He responded, taking more of my flesh into his mouth, teasing me with his teeth.

It wasn't enough. It wasn't the feeling that I was searching for.

Holding his head like that felt powerful, it felt good. My other breast wanted to feel his mouth, and I wanted to control him. Dragging him by his hair, I pulled him over to the other side. He grunted at being moved. But, when he saw what I wanted, he changed his groan into a hum of pleasure. Seeming to sense that I wanted his submission, he said meekly, 'yes Bella', then he took the other breast greedily, faster and harder than before. He sucked at my skin, and I felt it tighten and pucker. What was this fine line between pleasure and pain? Why did hard feel so good?

My hands were still in his hair, I tugged at it to show him my pleasure, to show him that hard was good. He whimpered, not with pain, but with some other kind of frustration. He too wanted more.

Gripping his curls hard, I turned his head to expose his neck. He kept kissing my breast. I leant forward and bit hard into his neck. The flesh was cold, like ice-cream, and hard. It reminded me of biting into putty at the dentist's.

Edward whimpered again, softly. He sounded like a puppy being shaken by the scruff of the neck. I kept my mouth there, dragging my teeth over the taut skin. Edward lapped at my nipple, his tongue darting almost desperately fast. My skin tingled. It was like a static shock running from his tongue and reverberating throughout my body.

With my mouth on his neck, I looked down his naked back. His cheeks were splashed with moonlight.

Releasing his hair, I grazed my nails down his spine, then circled them around his tight buttocks. He wrapped his arms around my waist and nuzzled his face into my neck.

I kneaded his buttocks, feeling the muscular roundness of them. The skin was soft and hard at the same time, like leather skivers stretched over a solid mahogany desk.

His hands slid slowly down my waist until they reached the band of my skirt.

Expectantly, my groin ached, unsure what it was about to feel, but excited to be about to feel anything at all. Nerve-endings that I hadn't known about began to throb.

Edward's hands were on the zip of my skirt, but they were hesitating. He was nervous and slow. He had stopped here.

Angrily, I pulled back my hand and, before I had planned to do so, I slapped him hard on the ass. His ass slapped back, it was like hitting a table.

He jumped, not with pain, it hurt me more than it hurt him. He jumped with the shock of sudden condemnation. Pushing his nose into the groove above my clavicle, he whined quietly. Mistaking the cause of the smack, he moved his hands up my back again. He returned to gentle stroking and soft, velvety kisses, making his tongue feel like the nose of a kitten.

Disappointed, my quim felt empty and lonely. I wanted him harder and firmer and I wanted him lower.

"Allow me," I heard Jasper's voice, deep and self-assured. He was behind me. He whipped off my skirt and knelt behind me, pressing his chest against my bottom. His hands slid around my thighs, caressing the inside of my legs.

Jasper's surprisingly hot breath was on my hip, he was panting. His fingers were travelling, confidently, firmly towards the throbbing, longing, untouched quim. Firmly stroking up the inside of my thighs, along the crease where my panties met my skin. His arrogant hands were fully grown, not the long-fingered gangly teenaged hands of my boy-lover. Jasper's hands were a man's hands and they knew what they were doing.

I gasped and I felt Jasper's chuckle against my back.

His hands moved slower, too slow, painfully slow. Sliding his index fingers between my panties and my skin. Those cold, hard fingers slid themselves up around and over my hips, then back down, so, so, slowly down towards the crotch of my panties. As his fingers dragged their way around the legs, they pulled the cloth up, away from my skin. It would be so easy for him to touch me now, but still he circled. He was like a tiger stalking around his prey, toying with it before he pounced. I was tensing and longing, trying to urge him to move faster, to touch me. He was teasing.

Edward nustling my neck like a puppy, Jasper stroking my legs and breathing on my hip. But neither of them touching me where I wanted to be touched. Neither of them satisfying this new and urgent longing to feel something. Neither of them reaching out for these nerve-endings that had only just awoken and were longing to feel their first sensation.

I groaned in frustration, not really sure of what I wanted, only sure that this wasn't it.

Then, I woke up.

I was in my bed at home, and Jasper was really there, not behind me but in front of me, watching me with a smirk.

He was so cock-sure I barely worried about the change of setting or of man. Dream-Edward had been almost as modest as Real-Edward. Perhaps, if I wanted the job done, I was better off with Dream-Jasper.

His hands were not on me, though. I wriggled a bit, sitting up in the bed. Jasper didn't touch me. He just stood there, grinning.

"Good dream, Bella?"

I looked around. I was wearing normal tatty pjs. There was a top in the middle of my bedroom floor and a book splayed out on my bedside table. This was not a romantic or an erotic scene.

"I'm awake," I concluded.

"Yes, Bella. You are awake. Sorry about that. I think that I'd rather be back in that dream, too. Why was it my name you were muttering in your sleep? What were we doing?"

Great. The fantastic sleep-talker strikes again. "Er . . . I don't remember. Perhaps you were driving too fast."

"From your tone and the frankly pungent emotions that I'm getting, I wasn't driving quite fast enough for your liking."


End file.
